Missing You
by RMBlythe
Summary: Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski both stop by the Beacon Hills Cemetery on the same day to visit the same grave. Who do they see and what do they have to say? Take a trip down memory lane with the Stilinski boys.


_**Wow! Two new stories in one day! So I don't know about you, but I want to know more about Stiles' back-story. What happened to his mom? What's the sheriff's first name? What's Stiles' first name? Here's my theory. What do you think? (Don't own TeenWolf. Jeff Davis does. He's brilliant.)**_

_Missing You_

Stiles Stilinski watched the gravel shift and move beneath his feet as he walked. He didn't need to watch where he was going. He had made this trek through the Beacon Hills Cemetery often enough. It was when his feet stopped moving that he dared to look up from the ground. And that's when he saw it. When he read the words that still made his heart stop and his chest tighten.

_Jessica Lynn Stilinski_

_1967- 2008_

_Loving wife, mother, and friend _

_"A day without laughter is a day wasted."_

"Hey Mom," Stiles whispered, kneeling down before the head stone. He gently lay the bouquet of roses down. "Everybody still treating you good in Heaven?" he smirked. "Yep. That's what I thought. I wish I could say the same for down here. Things are so... God, I don't even know how to explain it out loud. Everything's so freaking screwed up and I just don't know what to do anymore!" He sighed heavily. "The worst part about it is that I can't tell anyone about it, and you know how much I like to talk. What was it you used to tell people? Stiles only stops talking so he can take a breath to continue talking? I'm like you in that way, I guess. Dad's a pretty quiet guy. Keeps to himself most of the time. He hasn't mentioned you. Don't get me wrong though, I'm sure he thinks of you all the time, but we never broach the subject. Though I almost wish he would sometimes. I need someone to talk to, Mom. I put on a brave face for Dad, and for Scott, and for everyone else, but I'm just so tired of it. It's really exhausting actually. Everyone dumps their problems on me but no one takes a minute to consider that I have my own shit to deal with. I mean, here I am again, talking to myself in a cemetery. That can't be healthy!" Stiles laughed bitterly and put his head in his hands. "God, Mom!" he groaned. "I just want to scream and cry like a little kid, but I have to keep cracking jokes to keep Scott sane 'cause otherwise he'll wreck havoc on the unsuspecting citizens of town... by the way, that's the thing I'm not allowed to tell anyone. But you can keep a secret, right?" he chuckled humorlessly. "Of course you can. You were the only one to ever listen to me. Never telling me to go away or to be quiet. You always listened. And God knows I need that now, Mom. 'Cause Scott's a werewolf. Yeah, a honest to God, snarling, hairy, sharp toothed, pointy nailed, howling werewolf. But I'm the only one who knows about it, and the reason I can't tell anyone is because there are hunters who would love nothing more than to shoot him with a flaming arrow. Literally. Their arrows are on fire. Which would normally be cool if they weren't being aimed at Scott. So I'm the one who ends up helping him run, hide, or whatever other tactic may be necessary to avoid them. In other words, I'm stuck with him. Well, I guess that's not really fair. You know Scott's always been my best friend. I could never leave him when he's struggling through all this. And that's my problem, really. When he feels the uncontrollable urge to change, I am the one who calms him down or gets him away from other people. He seems to be getting a better grip on controlling his new powers, but there are times when he doesn't know me. Me! His friend for sixteen years! And..." Stiles moaned, his voice breaking. "And then he attacks me. Or, he tries to. Only God knows how I manage to avoid his razor sharp claws every time, but I'm afraid to push my luck. There's bound to be a limit to how long I can keep this up before something happens. Honestly, it scares the shit out of me. But he's my best friend, and he looks to me for help. So as much as I'd love to leave this nightmare behind, I can't let him face this alone."

Stiles looked down at his watch and realized he was late for picking Scott up for school. "I gotta go," he sighed. "Time to put the smile back on and save all this for another day I guess. Thanks for listening, Mom. I really," he took a deep breath and shook his head. "I really do miss you."

A beautiful day. A rarity for Beacon Hills. The sun shone brightly, it's beautiful rays dancing upon everything it touched. It was as bright as her smile, but not nearly as beautiful. Sheriff Mike Stilinski gripped the steering wheel of his police cruiser harder as the hole inside him began to ache. Again. His wife had been gone four years and it still hurt like hell. Much much worse than any physical wound he'd ever received throughout his years in the army or on the police force.

And it wasn't as if he could escape the pain either. It had become a constant in his life. Wake up in the morning, shed a tear because she's not in bed beside him. Grab a cup of coffee, feel the ghostly touch of her lips on his cheek as if she'd kissed him good morning like she had so many times before. Go to work and either avoid driving past the cemetery at all costs or drive past it all too often, depending on his mood, during his patrol. Come home late to a quiet house. Crying himself to sleep in a bed too big for just one man to occupy, desperately hoping Stiles couldn't hear him from down the hall.

Stiles.

His son looked exactly like him. That's what everyone had said from day one. And the sheriff didn't deny it. Everyday Stiles looked more and more like him. But, his unique personality, his scheming mind, the way he got so excited about the most trivial things, that was all Jess. She had been the wild one, the one who dove head first into things without ever stopping to think of the consequences. Life was too short to spend it worrying over things you couldn't change. She always told him that. God, how he wished he'd listened! He was the level headed one. The thinker. The planner. He was the one to pick up the pieces and hold her when she cried. And he didn't mind. He could always make it better. Kiss the pain away. Except the one time it mattered. He couldn't kiss the cancer away. But she fought. Lord, how she had fought against the disease that was attacking her! She was so brave. He was so proud. But when she had to go to the hospital, just a few days after Stiles' birthday, he knew she couldn't fight anymore. Day after day, he sat beside her hospital bed as she slipped away. He'd never felt so damn helpless and he hated it. So day in and day out he sat there, hoping that maybe his presence would give her the strength she needed. But she wasn't fighting for herself anymore, he wasn't sure she'd ever been. She had always been fighting for him, and for Stiles. She fought to stay with her family. But as tears began to slide down his cheeks, he realized that if he loved her, he had to let her go. So he'd sat on the bed and scooped her up into his arms as best he could, kissing her forehead, and then her lips as his salty tears splashed onto her ever beautiful face. He'd told her it was okay. She could stop fighting. She could go home. But most importantly, he'd told her how desperately he loved her, and he promised he would look after Stiles, and that she would never be forgotten.

Mike found himself on his knees at her grave before he was even fully aware of his decision to park his patrol car and walk over to the site. The aching in his chest growing more unbearable by the minute, he reached out a hand and leaned against her tomb stone, squeezing his eyes shut as the memory of her funeral flashed in his mind.

Black. Everyone was wearing black. Jess would have hated it. She loved color, lots and lots of bright colors. Mike tugged at his tie uncomfortably while yet another person he really didn't know offered their condolences. For crying out loud, where had all these people come from? He didn't think he and Jess had even known this many people, yet here they all were. A massive sea of depressing black that filled his house. Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. He sighed and turned, ready to deal with yet another well meaning guest who he really just wanted to get the hell out of his house, only to see Melissa McCall. The one person he wanted to stay. "Hangin' in there?" she asked, a kind but sad smile on her face.

"Not really," Mike said, relieved beyond belief to see at least one familiar face. Jessica and Melissa had been close friends since high school. And now her son Scott was best friends with Stiles. While Jess had been in the hospital, Stiles had stayed over at the McCall's more often than not. And oh, how grateful he was for all Melissa had done, all that she was still doing for him and his son. "Over half these people I've never even seen before," he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Y'know what? I can handle this," Melissa said, hands on her hips as her eyes swept the room, assessing the situation. Melissa loved a good challenge.

Mike sighed. "Melissa, I couldn't ask you to..."

"You didn't ask, I volunteered," Melissa chuckled humorlessly. Then she smiled slightly and nodded towards the stairs. "Besides, I think there's someone who needs your attention now more than any of the rest of these yahoo's do."

Stiles. The sheriff nodded, reaching out to quickly embrace Melissa. "Thanks."

"Anytime," she nodded, spinning on her heel to intercept someone while Mike made his escape up the stairs.

He rounded the corner to come face to face with Stiles' closed bedroom door. At least, it looked closed. However, it was open just enough for the sheriff to slip his hand through so he could open the door. He knew it's squeaking surely would have alerted Stiles to his presence, but his son remained lying completely still on his bed, though Scott looked up at him. His son's best friend was sitting on Stiles' desk chair and had his feet propped up on the bed. Though it was strange to see both boys so quiet, Mike was glad Stiles had such a loyal friend to help him through this.

"He hasn't really said anything," Scott whispered, now standing beside the sheriff. "I didn't really know what to do..."

Mike placed a hand on Scott's shoulder. "You did just fine, Scott. Why don't you go downstairs and get something to eat? There's tons of food in the kitchen."

Realizing he wanted to be alone with his son, Scott nodded, and with one last worried look at Stiles, he left the two Stilinski men alone. Mike shut the door and crossed the room, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, and though Stiles had his back to him, he could see that the boy was clutching a dress of Jessica's. "Stiles," he began, but to his surprise, his son interrupted him. Actually, it wasn't all that surprising.

"It was her favorite," Stiles said softly, rolling onto his back and holding the dress up. Mike looked at it. He was right, that was her favorite dress. It was an old fashioned sleeveless cut that had hugged her curves just right and was patterned with brightly colored geometric shapes. "I found it in the laundry room," Stiles continued, hugging the fabric to his chest once again. "It still smells like her."

Desperately blinking back his own tears, Mike smiled sadly at his son. How many times had he cried himself to sleep, clutching Jess' pillow, breathing in her scent and letting sweet memories wash over him? He was glad Stiles had found the dress. Glad he had something to hold onto.

Stiles turned his gaze to his father. The eyes that once danced with life and laughter, Jessica's eyes, were now dull and red and swollen from crying. "Why'd she die, Dad?" he asked, voice on the verge of breaking.

Mike swallowed the lump in his throat. How could he answer that? How could he make it seem okay, when he wanted to scream and cry at the unfairness of it all? He shouldn't have had his wife taken away from him so soon. Stiles shouldn't have to grow up without a mother. "Um," he cleared his throat awkwardly, the boy's watery eyes staring up at him helplessly. Jess would know how to handle this. She and Stiles had been so close. She knew how to talk to him, knew what he needed to hear and when. Mike sighed. "Well, Son, sometimes there's nothing you can do. She was really very sick..."

"But what about all that crap the doctor said?" Stiles said, so angry and grief stricken he could feel himself starting to shake. "All that stuff about pulling through despite the odds? About all those people who made miraculous recoveries?"

Bowing his head and closing his eyes, Mike tried to collect himself. He had to be strong for his son. A tear rolled down his stubbled cheek. "I guess... Stiles, it doesn't always work that way."

"Why not?"

Mike sighed, looking back up at Stiles and sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. I wish it did."

Stiles took an unsteady breath. "I miss her."

"Me too."

They were quiet for a minute, the soft murmurs of the mourners rising through the floorboards, mixing with Stiles' sniffles as he tried to keep the tears at bay. He didn't want to cry anymore, but he couldn't really help it. Right now, it felt like he'd never be happy again. "Will it ever go away?" he asked suddenly, clutching the dress to his chest. "Will it ever stop hurting so bad? And if it does, what if I start to forget her? I don't want to forget her."

Smiling sadly as tears began to cascade down his face, Mike opened his arms. Stiles immediately curled into his father's chest, sobs beginning to wrack his body. Mike held desperately to the only part of Jessica he had left. He finally let himself cry, tears falling into the young boy's brown hair. Mike felt his heart begin to mend, if only just a bit as he held his son. Stiles was part of her. Just like her, in fact, in so many ways. "She lives in you, Stiles," he whispered gruffly. "You don't have to miss her. She is a part of you. You'll never forget her, and neither will I."

"Dad?" Stiles called, having seen his father's car in the driveway. Sheriff Stilinski was rarely home this early, and with everything that had been going on lately with Scott, Stiles was honestly happy about the prospect of getting to spend some time with his dad. Without getting yelled at or chastised, that is. "Hey Dad, you home?"

Receiving no answer, Stiles frowned. Not in the living room. Not the kitchen. Not his office. "Weird," Stiles muttered, shrugging his shoulders and heading upstairs to get a jump start on his homework. No telling when Scott was going to wolf out and need his help, and unlike his best friend, he was not about to repeat his sophomore year. On his way to his room though, Stiles passed his father's room, and saw his dad sitting on the edge of the bed. Stiles smiled, "Hey Dad, what's..."

But his greeting died on his lips when Mike turned his head towards him. His eyes were red and his cheeks were streaked from the salty tears he'd been crying. Upon seeing his son, he immediately tried to cover up his moment of weakness, swiping furiously underneath his eyes.

Concerned, Stiles hurried to his father's side. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Mike shook his head. "Nothing," he sniffed. "It's nothing, Stiles."

"It's obviously something, Dad," Stiles said, sitting down beside him on the bed. His father just shook his head again, looking down at his hands as a wayward tear escaped. It was then Stiles noticed the picture of his mom on the bed. Picking it up, he smiled back at her beautiful, laughing face. He felt the familiar pang in his heart that he had this morning at her grave. The same one he got whenever he thought about her.

"I stopped by her grave today," his father said, his voice rougher than usual from crying.

Stiles smiled. "So did I."

"Really?" his father asked, a bit surprised.

"Yeah. I go out there a lot, actually." Stiles handed the picture back to Mike. "It's okay to miss her, Dad. I do too."

He tore his gaze from his wife's portrait and looked at Stiles, right into his brown eyes. The very same dark eyes of Jessica's that always sparkled with laughter and love were peering back at him. "Y'know," he said, clearing his throat, "everyone says you look like me. But whenever I miss your mom too much, all I have to do is look at you. You have her eyes, her smile, and her laugh."

Stiles grinned sheepishly and looked down at the floor. He liked knowing that a part of her lived on in him. It was a thought that had comforted him since the day of her funeral when his father first reminded him of it. "She always knew exactly what to say, unlike me," Stiles chuckled. "Whenever something bad happened, no matter what it was, she could fix it with a joke, advice, or just a hug."

"Now that, you did inherit from her," Mike said with a proud smile.

Stiles shook his head. "No. If I could, then..." He trailed off, rapidly blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. He took a deep breath and sighed, "God, I wish she was here now."

The older Stilinski cleared his throat. "I know you and Mom were close, Stiles. And I'm not very good with the whole comforting thing... but I'm here for you. If you ever want to talk, or just need someone to sit and think with, I'm here. We can even go to Mom's grave together, if you want."

"Thanks," Stiles nodded, giving his dad a small but grateful smile. "Think I'm gonna head off to bed. See you in the morning, Daddy-o."

"Yeah," Mike said, feeling once again like his son was hiding something from him. "Goodnight, Stiles."

Just before he reached the door, Stiles spun back around to face Mike. "Um, Dad?"

"Yeah?"

Stiles' heart thundered in his chest, knowing Scott would not be happy with him, but not knowing where else to turn. "I want...I mean, I _need_ to talk," he said, stumbling over his words a bit. But he could tell he had his dad's full attention. No turning back now. "I can't do this on my own anymore. I need help," he continued, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Dad, there's some things you need to know..."


End file.
